How To Save A Life
by Laree England
Summary: Jack witnesses a tragic event that leaves him feeling numb. A mysterious caregiver makes him feel better throughout his centuries of loneliness.


The night was cold. It always was. Not that the white haired boy walking lightly along the bridge could feel it at all. He was the reason for the frigid air, after all.

He traced the bridge's guardrail with his crooked staff, a Victorian pattern of white frost racing out from it. He looked to the lightly clouded night sky and sighed. With his exhale, little snowflakes began to appear, fluttering to the ground in a beautiful death dance. His bare feet padded over the dirty concrete, turning the light mist from the river below to ice on the pavement. The Moon shone full and true, making his snow-white skin glow almost just as fluorescent. A handful of people walked by him, their collars turned up against the cold. None of them looked up to acknowledge him. He nodded at each of them, however, wishing them a good night and safe passage home. He didn't expect any reply, of course, but the century-old ache of being unseen still throbbed in his chest.

A little ways further down the bridge and he came to a man unlike the others. His face was stone, set at a look that Jack had seen displayed in Rome upon statues. Something about this man made Jack feel uneasy. He approached the man, setting the base of his staff upon the ground. His eyebrows raised in concern as he studied the man's face. The man stared off the edge of the bridge, down to the river. Jack positioned himself a little more in front of the man, trying to put a finger on what was so off about him.

Then, slowly, almost trance-like, the man held onto the vertical rail on the bridge to steady himself as he stepped up onto the guardrail.

Jack's heart began to pound, and the wind began to whip over the bridge, throwing the man's cloak backwards. The man remained motionless, watching the coursing river. The pieces suddenly slid into place in Jack's head, displaying a dark and twisted image in his mind's eye.

The wind blew harder, seeming to almost be an attempt to push the man back to safety. Jack broke from his shocked state and gripped onto his staff, watching, terrified as he remained unnoticed.

For what seemed to be hours they both stood motionless. Jack never blinked, sure that if he did, when he opened them again the man would be gone. The wind howled harder the more time went by, until the man stepped back down, onto the bridge. Jack released the breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding. He clutched his chest, convinced that if he didn't his heart would bound from it.

The man's face continued to show no sign of emotion. He simply faced right and continued to walk down the bridge as if nothing had happened.

Jack stationed himself on that bridge every night afterwards. And, every night, the same man would show up and stand on the bridge, each time seeming to be closer to actually doing it. What was holding him back from doing so, Jack had no clue, but he desperately hoped that whatever it was would continue to save him.

On the seventh night of this routine, the man showed up once again, like clockwork. He stood on the bridge, leaning so much forward that only the tips of his fingers around the vertical railing kept him tied to the world. Jack crouched on the railing beside him, a mere foot away, still unseen, still worried sick.

The man righted himself once more, and Jack released his breath just as he had each night before, shutting his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, the man stood on the guardrail with his arms outspread, his eyes closed, as if awaiting an embrace from a loved one. His feet tilted forwards—

"No!"

—and he fell.

Jack stood on the railing, his hand outstretched to the place where the man had stood on the edge of life and death only a moment before. Tears lined in his eyes, his mouth slightly open with the impression of his scream. He didn't breathe. He didn't blink. His knees buckled and he stumbled onto the bridge, his eyes still wide.

He lost track of how many days slouched past he walked in a daze, the scene repeating like a horrible movie in his head over and over. He couldn't comprehend what had happened, why someone would take their own life like that. Why horrible tragedies like this happened. The fact that still no one could see him pressed in on him with crushing force, now that life itself had shown itself in this new light to him. He didn't know why, all he knew was that it was much harder to breathe, to walk in streets filled with people who could walk right through him.

Jack wandered, lost. He grew weary. He felt worse than he had in two hundred years. He forced his feet to keep walking, though, no matter the terrain. Had he been human, his feet would have been severely bloodied. The weight of what he had experienced eventually became too much, and he collapsed in a forest, shivering for the first time in his new life. He lay, quietly suffering, for an amount of time he could not tell. He closed his eyes and held his head, trying to shut out the world. Night fell.

Sleep began to stalk him from the shadows of the trees. He didn't want to succumb, afraid of the nightmares that may be awaiting him there. Just as unconsciousness began to close its fingers around him, he felt something warm against his skin. It lifted him up and carried him. Jack would have normally begun to fight, the sensation of touch completely unknown to him, but his soul was so broken that he barely even registered the fact.

He passed out in the creature's arms and woke up in another forest upon a bed of soft grass. He sat bolt upright, his mind buzzing. Someone had touched him last night. Someone had touched him! He looked around frantically, trying to find any sign of the person. None came. Jack felt like he wanted to cry. He felt angry. His trauma had hindered him from interacting with the first person who had acknowledged his presence since he could remember. His nails dug into the ground, and his fingers brushed against something.

He looked down and saw a oblong, brown object. He picked it up gingerly and rubbed it. It felt slightly waxy. He raised it to his nose; it smelled sweet. He hesitantly put his tongue on it. It tasted sweet, too. He bit into it and instantly felt better, hope unfurling like a blooming flower in his chest. His previously angered outlook turned positive. Now he knew that there was at least one person in the world who could see him. And they were kind, caring...

He ate half of the treat and carefully wrapped the remainder in a leaf, tucking into his shirt. Over the years, he found many more of these treats, hidden in various locations, but he never saw the person who left them for him.

Half a century later, Jack woke up leaning against a building, finding a basket sitting in front of him. Inside was another brown treat, identical to the one he had had so many years before. He smiled widely at the gift, bringing it to him. He looked up and down the alleyway, hoping to catch a glimpse of the gift-giver, but seeing no sign of him, just like the years before. He happily took a small nibble from it, the strange sense of a wave of hope washing over him. He looked into the basket again and saw something folded inside. It was a bright blue and looked very soft.

Jack set down the treat and lifted the clothing from the basket, unfolding it and recognizing it as a hoodie. He smiled widely, loving it instantly. He had to admit, his colonial clothing was a little out of style. The cloak and tattered white shirt were lifted off of him, and he pulled on the hoodie. Frost darted down the front of it, making a unique design. Jack smiled and stood, looking down and the perfectly-fitting hoodie. It felt magnificent. He tucked his old clothes behind a dumpster, memorizing the location in case he would ever want them back.

The Moon was beginning to set. Jack flew to the top of a building, nodding at it in a salute.

Not knowing who else to give his thanks, he said to the open air a happy "Thank you."

.  
.

_Present Day_

Jack slid down the entrance to the Warren. Eggs scuttled by his feet. He danced around them, careful not to step on any of Bunnymund's precious googies. They scampered to one of the paint rivers, throwing themselves in. Jack looked away, painful memories resurfacing. He shook his head, flying up to search for the Pooka.

"Aye!"

Bunny waved from below, and Jack grinned down at him. He landed, twirling his staff.

"Whatchya doing?" Jack asked. "It's not close to Easter yet."

"Practicing," Bunny replied, stirring a giant pot.

Jack peered inside, a familiar scent filling his nostrils. He furrowed his brows.

"Chocolate," Bunny said proudly. "I invented it. Can't try it myself, though."

"Why not?" Jack asked.

Bunnymund chuckled. "Now that's a long story. A different day, maybe. You want to be my tester?"

He ladled some out, pouring it into a cast. The chocolate set quickly, and Bunny picked it out.

"Here," he said, offering it to Jack.

Jack accepted the egg-shaped chocolate, taking a slow bite. With the taste and rush of hope, Jack finally knew.

"It was you," he said, his eyes wide.

Bunny looked at him for a moment in silence, then nodded.

Jack dropped the chocolate and flung himself at the rabbit, burying his face in his fur. "It was you."

Bunny's arms slowly returned the embrace. Jack was able to recognize the warmness of his body from those hundreds of years ago.

"It was me."


End file.
